


Soil and Ashes

by Anosrepasi



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, God Verse, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Partially based on Hades/Persephone, WIP, more tags/characters as this progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anosrepasi/pseuds/Anosrepasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the God of Death is no small task, Thorin is all too aware of this fact. </p><p>That isn't to say that it's a bad job. He loves his kingdom, he loves his subjects and he loves his family (especially when they find the opportunity to come visit him in Erabor). But being the King of the Dead can be lonely and the misconceptions about him held by those in the living and eternal realms aren't really doing him any favors. At this point, it's better to be lonely than deal with the world that only treats him with fear and suspicion. Thorin's accepted this, he knows it's for the best, even if he doesn't have to like it.</p><p>Acceptance only works if nothing ever changes, however. And meeting someone new because of a forest fire tends to change things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First a Spark

Elrond had seen many ages pass him as the world aged and matured. Despite this comfort of time and the knowledge of eternity, the god of the earth could never dispel the sense of uneasiness that occurred when he found Gandalf walking his realm. It was often better to accommodate for the change-bringer rather than gamble on a catastrophe occurring on his lands.

As it was of the moment, Gandalf was currently wandering around his forests with seemingly no aim before him. This was not a comforting sight by any means.

Elrond closed his eyes and stepped out from behind a tree, opening them to find himself a few yards from the grey-cloaked god as he amicably shuffled from tree to tree. Elrond’s smile was strained as he greeted the god of chance, “Gandalf, is there some matter that I can assist you with?”

“No, no,” Gandalf chuckled, as he reached out and casually rested a hand on one of the trees. Elrond suppressed the desire to flinch as the god’s hand made contact. “I’m merely here acting as an instrument for my beloved lady”

That caught Elrond’s attention.

“Galadriel sent you? I would not think that Fate would send Chance to enact her will.” The statement was laced with slight disbelief and worded in a way that could cause offense if Gandalf so chose to interpret it as such, but the gray figure merely smiled in his commonly innocent fashion. As if the god was faultless to a rather alarming amount of occurrences in the living realm.

“Ah, I like to think that Chance is merely the hand of Fate that specializes in spontaneity,” the god replied in a cheerfully cryptic manner.

Neither god spoke as a peal of thunder burst across the sky. A bolt of lightning flashed and connected with the tree Gandalf had touched earlier, causing the wood to moan and crackle as the branches and roots erupted into flames.

Elrond gave an exasperated sigh and merely motioned at tree, as if to ask _was this really necessary?_ Gandalf did not reply but tipped his hat in farewell and began to make his way back to where he had come from.

Elrond kept his eyes on Gandalf’s retreating figure until he was sure Gandalf had left his forest before turning to leave, only pausing to quickly examine the now-burnt tree and the wildfire that was rapidly spreading through his forest. The outcome would not be pleasant.

“It seems I now require the gardener’s assistance.”

-

The forest was burning magnificently. Flames were greedily devouring each tree they passed and every bush or flower burst into color as the flames licked at their leaves. Thorin walked along the trees unhurried, making no attempt to try and match the pace of the flames that ran before him. The sky was dark and soon the rain would smother the flames, so he had no need for haste. He could take time to enjoy this.

Thorin spread his hands wide and gently brushed his fingertips along the trunks of the trees as he passed. The trees crumbled and fell behind him, and the plants at his feet withered away and were blown to ash in the breeze. Thorin had always admired the beauty of these natural deaths. The spirits of nature did not shout and scream like that of the living when faced with death, instead they whispered and faded. There was a quiet strength to these whispers, they spoke of history and the inevitability of time. They did not fight death wildly, but went with a sense of acceptance and dignity. Death was noble, a sacrifice to allow for new life to take place and stand vigil over the earth. Thorin had visited this spot many times in the past, and he no doubt would visit again in the future. The forest shall endure, and so shall he.

A few drops of rain landed on Thorin and he paused to watch as the clouds broke their silence and rained down upon the earth. Soon the flames themselves were flickering out, only leaving steaming embers behind. Thorin continued forward but maintained his distance as he examined the edges of the fire, taking note of the partially burned areas and blacked forest cover. While the plants around the edge had taken some damage, most still clung to life. It was not his place to take them today.

It was the sensation of another presence that interrupted Thorin’s inspections. He stiffened immediately but did not turn to face the figure. If he was going to be bemoaned for doing his own job he’d rather put it off indefinably. His temper got the best of him, however, and he called out coldly, “Come to hassle me about my work, Elrond?”

The small huff that followed in response to his words was definitely not that of Elrond’s.

Thorin turned, brows crinkled in confusion as he caught sight of a young man standing among the ashes of the forest. He was a bright thing, with hair the color of honey and clothes of red, white and green. The man’s eyes locked with Thorin’s defiantly. Thorin tilted his head, trying to identify the man as he continued to stand there, unmoving. “And who are you, small one, to have wandered onto this grave?”

The man rolled his eyes at Thorin’s question, which only served to further confuse and aggravate the god of death. The man had a small grin on his lips, his voice lighthearted yet taunting. “Small one, really? And I would hardly call this a grave, oh somber one. Life is already taking root here.”

Thorin frowned at the man’s brash way and approached him as the shorter man motioned to the ground at his feet. Once he deemed Thorin close enough, the man brushed away some ash with his bare feet _– how strange –_ to unearth a small green sprout, vibrant against the blackened soil. Until a moment ago, the space had been devoid of life. Thorin’s frown deepened and he looked over at the man with suspicion, “Speak, then. What business do you have here?”

The man scoffed, “It’s quite rude to demand a name without offering your own, you know. If you’re so curious, I’m Bilbo, god of planting and the harvest.”

That would explain why Thorin had never met this man before, seeing as he had no business with the ceremonies of life such as those. After a moment he realized the man was staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for a response. Oh, right. He had said something about offering a name.

“Thorin, Lord of Erabor, at your service.” He said gruffly. And then he proceeded to watch as Bilbo’s eyes widened and he silently mouthed Thorin’s title back at the god himself. Thorin felt a tiny bit disappointed as he watched the man’s sudden change in expression. Knowing his identity, this Bilbo would probably retract that sense of brashness about him, instead acting meek and timid in Thorin’s presence. Few in the living or eternal realms treated Thorin otherwise. It seemed that because he was the god of death there was this unspoken expectation that no one could grace his company with any kind of liveliness. Thorin could understand the logic behind this conclusion, but it was also rather absurd at the same time. Returning his thoughts to the present he prepared himself for the inevitable retreat this man would make in a moment or so. Instead, Bilbo smiled at him. Who smiles at just having met the god of death? This man was such an odd little creature.

“Well. Your highness, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.” The small man extended a hand and Thorin merely stared at it for a moment. In the span of his existence, people ran away at this point. They did not offer their hands in greeting. For multiple reasons. Thorin coughed awkwardly,

“I can’t touch things in this realm unless they’re dying.” He stated plainly.

Bilbo’s hand retracted as if it had caught fire, and the man blushed a deep red as he began to babble, “Oh, well, my apologies, sorry that was rather stupid of me to not consider, hopefully no offense taken. Sorry, so sorry.”

Thorin just continued to stare silently at the smaller man, his own ears slightly burning with embarrassment at the sheer awkwardness of this entire interaction. It was strange to think the day had started off with such promise and somehow changed to this somewhere along the way. At this point, making a quick exit from this odd man and ~~retreating~~ _returning_ to his kingdom would be best. “Well met, Master Planter. I must be going.”

And with that Thorin quickly spirited himself back to the halls of Erabor and could not help but exhale a ragged breathe of relief at having left the forest behind.

-

Bilbo stared mutely at the spot where the tall king of death had been standing, intensively interrogating the planter with his eyes until he suddenly decided to _disappear into thin air_. What a novel way to leave, just, dissipate into nothingness. Not to mention the soul-piercing staring abilities. Bilbo couldn’t help but be incredibly flustered by the whole (completely unorthodox) ordeal.

How ordinary is it to meet the god of death anyway?

_Very un-ordinary, thank you very much. Rather impossibly unexpected, at any rate._

Bilbo’s thoughts continued along this jumbled dance as he set to work actually doing his job, as requested by Elrond. He quickly picked over the fire-made clearing and brushed away small sections of ash and debris to reveal new life springing up among the destruction. He smiled as he uncovered another small sprout, pushing itself up from the soil. There was such a beautiful quality about these small little sprigs. They weren’t tranquil in the least, fighting (figuratively) tooth and nail to even climb up out of the ashes, but they were doing it and they were succeeding. Life was a struggle and even these fragile sprouts had the honor of being the warriors of their own existence. Bilbo loved it. The sight of such pure energy always brought a smile to his face.

A deep voice broke through his thoughts, “I see you wasted no time working your magic upon this land.”

Bilbo spun around with an open grin, “Gandalf! You won’t guess who I just met!”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows and inclined his head for Bilbo to continue. Eagerly, the shorter man launched into the tale of happening upon Thorin in the blackened clearing and having met the god for the first time. Bilbo talked openly about his curiosity of the death god and how the man was so unexpectedly strange; dark and intimidating, but timid and quiet all the same. A deep voice that didn’t boom like thunder but flowed like a deep river. What a peculiar individual. Gandalf did not interrupt but merely chuckled at this or that point in Bilbo’s description of the Death god. He listened intently and only responded warmly once the hobbit had finished his explanation, “It seems you’ve made quite the new acquaintance.”

Bilbo smiled joyfully but his smile dropped into a small frown as he considered something, “But, it’s quite unlikely that I’ll chance his company again, isn’t it? I prefer not to have much business with death, even if he seems a good man, despite being a bit grumpy.”

Gandalf’s eyes were lively with some sense of knowledge that Bilbo was unaware of, “One never knows what Fate will throw his or her way, I say. Speaking of chance, I am rather optimistic of how these sprouts will grow.”

“Oh? Does Chance himself smile favorably upon my work?” Bilbo teased, his smile returning in full force as the conversation took a new turn.

Gandalf smiled in return, “If I was forced to predict on way or another, I would like to think this forest will grow back stronger and more beautifully than before it was razed. One mustn't overlook the generosity of ashes in nurturing the soil.”

Bilbo nodded and took a moment to drag his feet through the ash-laced soil, feeling the cool, dark earth between his toes. Gandalf was correct on all accounts about the fertility of the land beneath him, and the results of this event were bound to be magnificent.

“I’ll be looking forward to the fruits of this labor, then.” Bilbo commented fondly, still eyeing the small green sprouts that had already worked their way up to the surface.

Gandalf hummed a small note of agreement, “Me too, my boy. Me too.”

And there they stayed for a while before giving their farewells and parting for the evening. And for all the time Bilbo spent thinking about the small forest fire and the clearing, he never once thought to question why the god of chance seemed so interested in the whole occasion.


	2. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this sort of fell to the wayside. This chapter has been bugging me for months. Finally, I decided to just post it, before I ended up rewritting it for a fourth time. Yay. I'm still not happy with it but I needed to move on.

Erebor was too quiet.

Thorin sat up from where he was stretched out, reading Balin’s most recent reports about the progress of the craftsmen district of the city. A silence had fallen over the city, as it was apt to do when the majority of the citizens of Erebor retreated to the peace of their homes. While a strict sense of time did not exist in the city, the citizens usually kept their own routines and the silence merely accented how small Erabor’s recovering population was. Thorin got up from his chair and walked to the window of his room, looking out into the golden-lit streets below. A few people walked happily along the wide avenues, but otherwise the streets were mostly empty. The sight made always made him uneasy, as it recalled memories of Erebor at its lowest rather than its best.

He won’t be able to focus on work for very long in the silence.

Thorin sighed and grabbed a thin cloak, exiting the room and making towards the streets below. A walk would be as productive as reports at this point, and he hadn’t taken the time to check in with his charges recently.

Once he was walking the streets, it only took a couple of yards for his solitude to be broken by the sound of soft but steady footsteps trailing behind him. Thorin’s lips twitched into a short smile before acknowledging the presence, “Nori.”

“Your Highness,” The former thief bowed his head slightly as he fell in step with the king, his hands clasped innocently behind his back as he walked side by side with Thorin.

“How is it that I always find you out and about when it’s quiet like this?” Thorin spoke calmly, glancing over at the man. He trusted Nori as much as any other of his charges, but the man’s devious nature always held Thorin on the side of caution. Whereas Balin had always been Thorin’s advisor in helping his subjects thrive in Erebor, Nori was the city’s first defense against a threat from without or within.  Thorin had learned the hard way how valuable it was to remain wary of shadows.

Nori, for his part, answered truthfully, “The quiet always reminds me of nights back in my golden days, never felt safer than under the cover of darkness with empty streets for company. And I believe I was the one doing all the finding, your highness.”

Thorin conceded the point to the man, nodding lightly as he spoke, “And what has my esteemed observer found?”

“That my esteemed lord has a dislike for quiet city streets. An apparently infamous warrior of this age recent passed on to Erebor. Dwalin immediately thrashed him when said warrior was a little too self-important to be part of the city guard” Thorin smirked at the image of Dwalin knocking another supposed fighter to his feet. He had yet to see a warrior of Dwalin’s caliber since the tall man had joined his ranks, “The men and women working to get something to grow in the hills have yet to succeed, which is a bit of a shame, but not much of a surprise. Ori’s making beautiful progress with his library, and keeps working tirelessly to get every single story housed in this city.”

Nori smiled fondly as he mentioned his eager younger brother, and Thorin wouldn’t deny his own fondness of the younger man. “Your brother is quite gifted, I’m fortunate to have him use his talents to help Erebor so.”

Nori merely nodded, a small smile still on his lips. “In conclusion, for now your streets are incredibly secure. Though, there is a small whisper of activity in the immortal realm that I’m keeping an eye on. Right now, I can’t tell if it’s just Thranduil making a fuss about something or if this has some bigger players at work.”

Thorin stayed silent for a while before glancing over at Nori again, “Let me know if the situation changes, in either direction.”

The former thief bowed his head, “Yes, your majesty. enjoy your walk.”

And like that the man parted from Thorin’s side and was gone in seconds, disappearing into the meager crowd along the streets and making look as if he had never been there at all. Despite being a mortal, Nori had the stealth of a timeless. Thorin admired that quality about the man, even if it was a little unsettling.

Continuing in silence, Thorin neared the entrance to the city. The City gates were to his right while the barracks and guard encampments were to his left. He could pass the time until the city awoke in the ring against Dwalin, if he so desired. It would be an easy way to pass the time and a good way to break out of the unease that came with the quiet. But the sound of waves lapping up against rock to his right was slowly drawing Thorin’s attention. To the gates it was.

Outside of the city was a short path leading to a rocky beach and the stone harbor. The Lake of Dale that surrounded Erebor was constantly cloaked in thick fog that only those gifted with the sight could navigate. To everyone else, Thorin included, it was an almost impenetrable barrier, protecting Erebor from the eyes of outsiders and enemies alike. The rolling fog had always seemed to suck away the sound of the city, even in Thorin’s youth when Erebor had been constantly bustling with activity. Only here could Thorin feel comfortable with silence. Thorin settled himself on one of the large, rocky outcroppings along the stone harbor and leaned back onto the cold surface, closing his eyes. The sound of waves was calming, the feeling of the hard, cold stone beneath him equally so. Thorin let his breathing even out with the tempo of the water and set his thoughts upon Erebor.

The city was doing well, all things considered. The silences of the streets were becoming fewer and farther between. The souls of his people were recovering faster than ever from any ails that followed them to Erebor from the living realm. There had been no word of shadows in the last couple of centuries, and if they did appear, this time Erebor would be prepared for them. Thorin and Dwalin had seen to that. The city was recovering, slowly, but it was recovering.

Still. It was not perfect. Many of Erebor’s halls remained empty, having yet to be filled since the desolation of the city all those centuries ago. The latest group of arrivals had perished during a great plague that had ravished the living world, and they had yet to recover fully from the weakness of the illness as it left their souls. Nori’s side comment flitted through Thorin’s thoughts, his brow scrunching in annoyance, … _the_ _men and women working to get something to grow in the hills have yet to succeed, which is a bit of a shame…_

“Brother?”

Thorin’s eyes snapped open and his face broke into a seldom seen grin, “Frerin.”

The blonde deity had raised his eyebrows in surprise at his kingly brother, who was hardly ever to be found sprawled out along the shore these days. His look of questioning was broke by a laugh as Thorin grabbed his hand and pulled the younger god down to sit next to him. Thorin’s previously thoughts were forgotten as he turned to his brother, their shoulders bumping lightly. “I did not expect to see you, Frerin.”

“You seemed in need of some company, and it’s only a short sail to this bank” Frerin answered easily, pointing with his chin towards his boat, which was tied up on the dock. Thorin rolled his eyes as he glanced back at the impenetrable wall of fog blocking his view to the opposite shore. His voice was teasing as he spoke, “I’ll take your word for it”

Frerin chuckled, “Galadriel trusted, I hope so. Even with the sight you would take a century to find another shore with your sense of direction.”

“Hush,” Thorin lightly tossed back, “You would be equally lost if I wasn’t around to hold your hand when navigating Erebor’s streets.”

Frerin laughed, even as he chided his older sibling, “That’s an uncalled for blow, brother. It’s not a matter of direction when one can’t see their surroundings.”

Thorin mirrored the expression his brother had first made at him earlier, and even though Frerin wouldn’t be able to see the expression in its physical manifestation he easily conveyed the questioning tone with his voice, “And how are you to know it’s any different with me seeing as how I don’t have the sight?”

“Because I’ve foolishly followed your lead in other realms,” Frerin replied with a grin, “And we always get lost.”

“I took you on a longer route in order to admire the scenery”

“Sure. Because you’re a real admirer of ‘scenery’”

“I-“ Thorin cut himself off abruptly, his thoughts switching to the image of a sprout surrounded by black ash and soil. At the time he hadn’t really focused on the plant, his attention being held by awkward conversation, but in retrospect maybe he should have paid more respect to the ideas the plant represented. It was a small fragile thing, but it was rebellious to him and his ways. It grew despite being surrounded by the shell of death. Thorin could respect that, just as he respected the enduring quality of the forest as it burned. “I could do more to admire my surrounds, that’s true”

Frerin did not respond but looked over his brother curiously. They sat in comfortable silence for some time before Frerin broke the silence, “So you admit that we were lost?”

“Never.”

\--

Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a little smug as he smiled brightly, this year’s harvest was downright exceptional. He walked unseen along the rows of wheat, lightly brushing against the stalks as they parted before him in the wind. Behind him, the men of the mortal world were laboring away merrily, cutting down the stalks row by row. They might not be of the timeless, but they had enough experience to know a great harvest from a good one and it reflected in their cheer.

“Merry will be celebrating for several days it seems” Bilbo mused cheerfully as he watched the men work.

And as if summing the god himself, Merry catches up with Bilbo in the fields. The younger god grins wildly and grasps bilbo’s hand as soon as he’s close enough, pulling the older god impatiently. “Come on, come on, come on, the feast is about to start soon.”

Merry’s excitement is palpable and Bilbo gives a small laugh at his charge’s impatience. “And it’ll go absolutely fine, I just wanted to see the fields.”

Merry frowned slightly and rounded on Bilbo, his mood taking a turn towards worry rather than impatience. He dropped Bilbo’s hand and began to fidget with his sleeves, as he was apt to do when nervous. “But what if it doesn’t, Bilbo? What if something goes wrong?”

Bilbo smiled reassuringly, gently pulling Merry’s hand away from his sleeve and giving it a tiny squeeze. He looked Merry in the eye and answered solemnly, “Then we’ll blame it on the copious amounts of beer everyone will be drinking, and if something goes super terribly wrong… we’ll blame Pippin.”

Merry looked horrified, “But he hasn’t even had his calling yet!”

“Exactly, the free ones always make the best scapegoats.” Bilbo said deviously, and Merry smiled once again before shaking his head, “You are a terrible influence, Bilbo.”

“Shush, I’m a great role model for you poor souls.”

\--

Bilbo was right after all. The party was going fantastically without a single hiccup. Merry was the epitome of the host and kept everyone in high spirits. Bilbo smiled as he greeted another spirit, taking a moment to scan the growing crowd for any sign of his charges. Sam and Frodo were easy enough to find, talking amicably amongst themselves. Merry too could be found standing on a table, leading those gathered around him in a common mortal drinking song. Pippin however was nowhere to be found. That was vaguely troubling.

“It seems the celebrations are going splendidly,” Gandalf’s voice broke through Bilbo’s thoughts. The shorter man smiled and nodded in agreement as the grey cloaked figure settled down in a chair next to where Bilbo stood.

“Merry’s a great life of the party.” Bilbo responded, “How are you enjoying yourself?”

“Couldn't be happier, dear Bilbo. But I feel as if there is a distinct lack of fireworks here”

Bilbo chuckled as he glanced at the god at his side, “You’re quite taken with those mortal entertainments, I don’t believe there was a luckier day in the world than the day they invented the flashy things.”

“It’s true,” Gandalf chuckled in return, “Only my lady herself exceeds my love for fireworks.”

Bilbo nodded in the direction he had last seen Merry, “Well, I doubt that Merry would take offense to it, but you might want to ask him.”

Gandalf tipped the brim of his large grey hat down at the short god, “I think I shall, farewell dear Bilbo.”

Bilbo smiled and raised his glass in return as the other god ambled off in search of the god of festivals.

\--

Merry had obviously approved of Gandalf’s request because soon the sky above was decorated with a shower of bright sparks that reached from horizon to horizon and called out their presence like a great storm. Bilbo paused for a moment and admired the beauty of the fireworks as they danced through the sky, flashing in all their vibrancy for mere seconds before fading away. They were quite fleeting, but they were incredible all the same. The show continued on for some time and Bilbo found himself taking the time to simply watch the display rather than rejoin the drinking and dancing that was occurring with renewed vigor underneath the light filled skies. Bilbo was broken out of his revere by a small tap to his arm. Focusing his attention back to his surroundings, Bilbo found a tall, stocky god with golden hair standing before him. The man had his hands clasped before him and smiled apologetically as he spoke. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but are you Bilbo?”

“I am-“ Bilbo was cut off as another firework went off and drowned out the end of his sentence, but the man nodded in understanding.

Once the sound had faded away the god spoke again, “My brother and I stumbled upon a charge of yours, Pippin, stuck in a tree and he said that I should seek you out.”

Bilbo groaned and momentarily covered his eyes. Pippin was always managing to find himself in precarious situations and he hadn’t even had his calling yet.  At this rate, Bilbo’s youngest charge was destined to be mischief if nothing else. Looking back at the blonde god before him he made sure to speak up before a firework drowned him out, “Is he alright?”

“Perfectly fine when I left. Just a tad stuck.”

“Alright well we’d better go get him down. Forgive me for not asking earlier but you are?”

“Fili, god of loyalty and honor” The man grinned and offered a short bow, “No offence taken”

Bilbo smiled and offered his hand, shaking his new acquaintance’s hand before he took the rear and followed his blonde companion to the outskirts of the shire. A great oak tree had grown there when Bilbo was young and just beginning to rein in his abilities. It made for a wonderful spot, located on a slight hill overlooking the shire. And between flashes of light Bilbo could indeed see a small figure clinging to one of the branches on the tree. A little below him, a much taller figure stood at the break in the tree where the trunk divided and split into multiple paths. Fili waved, despite it being dark, and shouted a greeting at the figure, “Kili, I’ve returned with Bilbo. How’s the little fella doing?”

A slightly higher voice called back in the darkness, “We’re almost down, just a couple more branches to go!”

Bilbo neared the tree and raised his voice so he could be sure that Pippin could hear him, even with the constant fireworks in the background, “Pippin, my boy, are you alright?”

“Bilbo!” Pippin’s voice was thick with relief and even if he couldn’t see his charges face, Bilbo was sure that Pippin probably looked a lot happier about his situation than he did before.

“See, I told you Fili would find him. “ Fili’s brother’s voice, (Kili?), drifted amusingly down from the tree. Fili laughed and made a small comment about not inheriting a certain sense of direction which made Kili laugh loudly, much to the confusion of both Pippin and Bilbo.

“Ok, back to this mess, if you reach out your hand and take mine, I can pull you to where I am.” Kili’s voice was quieter this time, directed at the small god clinging to the oak branch. Pippin’s voice was uncertain as he replied, “But what if you drop me?”

“If Kili says he can grab you, he can do it. On my honor.” Fili pipped up from the ground as he slowly circled the tree, keeping himself poised in relation to both his brother’s and pippin’s position.

Pippin was silent for a moment before he spoke up again, “o-ok.”

“That’s the spirit” Kili responded with a cheery tone, “now just reach out and-“

And then came the sound of a great CRACK as one of the branches of the tree split and tumbled to the ground. Bilbo could do more than yelp and duck out of the oncoming branch’s way as it landed where he had been previously standing. His eyes strained against the dark, calling up worriedly for his charge, “Pippin?!”

“Caught him!”

Indeed the other god had pippin hanging from his arm, the other arm holding them both in place near the center of the tree. Fili scurried up to the trunk in order to help both of them down from the tree as Bilbo sighed in relief, “Thank Fate.”

Soon the young godling and the two foreign gods were all safely returned to the ground, with Bilbo immediately checking over his youngest charge for any signs of injury. The boy was indeed unharmed, just a little shaken. Bilbo gave the boy a quick hug as reassurance before using his best voice of authority, “I’m happy you’re alright, but go scamper back to the shire. And no more climbing for tonight!”

Pippin hastily agreed and was off, leaving Bilbo alone with the two older gods. He turned to them with obvious gratitude. “I cannot thank either of you enough for your help this evening. I may just be the god of Planting, but if you ever need my assistance, please feel free to call on me as a friend.”

Fili and Kili exchanged a quick look and Fili took the lead, “It was our pleasure to assist, Master Planter. But thank you for your offer, we will keep it in mind if we are in need of a friend.”

Bilbo smiled and ushered the gods back towards the Shire, “Well, then, we should all get back to the festivities, you two have earned quite a drink.”

 Soon the trio was back in the meadows of the Shire and the rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Merry found his way to Bilbo’s side as the party began to draw to a close. He motioned to Fili and Kili, who were standing beside Pippin and telling a gathering crowd a rather exaggerated variation of their rescue from the tree.  Merry let out a small laugh before commenting, “I rather like those two. I hope they come again next year.”

The circle surrounding the two charismatic gods and the godling broke out into laughter at some part of the story and Bilbo smiled fondly, “I quite agree with you, my boy.”

They watched the trio act out the part of the story where the branch fell and Bilbo spoke again, “See? I told you if anything happened we could blame Pippin.”

Merry’s laugh was drowned out by the sound of the party, but Pippin still sent an inquisitive look towards Merry and Bilbo. Bilbo just continued to grin and gave a short wave to the young godling.

This year’s harvest had been wonderful indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the comments and kudos so far, darlings! I cannot even begin to express how floored I was by the initial reaction to this piece and how people are still taking time to read this! I was a little intimidated, to be honest, but I'll strive to make sure that doesn't keep me from withholding the next chapter for you guys. :)
> 
> Thank you sooo much.

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter, FINISHED. Next chapter? Sort of planned out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, darlings. Any or all commentary or constructive criticism is appreciated. I don't have a beta for this so I have to get my feedback from somewhere. :)


End file.
